Que Friends

To the left you will see a picture of La Latina, which is where I was on Sunday. It was a day of shopping the stalls, drinking cerveza, and eating tapas (which included grilled sardines, whose taste belies their appearance). Yes, people, I am home from Spain. Spain. Spain Spainy Spain. Down to my belly. I LOVED IT. Madrid is a beautiful city and her people are friendly and her food is grand and her mochitos are out of this world. The trip might mean that I failed my Constitutional Law exam, but what's Commerce Clause jurisprudence in the face of world travel? Nothing, I tell ya! Nothing!

So the trip started with a looooong journey overnight, complete with incessantly crying baby, to Amsterdam, in whose airport I attempted to study. What that meant in the real world was that I plugged in the old ipod and promptly fell asleep hanging over my books, with the trail of drool that necessarily entails. Then it was on to Madrid, where Michael and I were met by David and we hopped the Metro to Arguelles, where David lives. After much sleeping and showering, Michael and I attempted to order Kebobs in Spanish. For me this meant pointing and indicating that I wanted "one." For Michael, this meant pointing at the food I had and indicating he wanted the same thing. But for all the embarrassment at not knowing a lick of Spanish at this point, that was the best damn food I ever had. Maybe it was because I was near death with hunger and jetlag, or maybe it was just that good. Whatever the case, at the first bite of ketchup-drenched sandwich, I could have died happy. Little did I know that this was the beginning of a rather torrid affair with the Kebob that was to spice up my little jaunt abroad. That evening Michael and I met Nacho and Paola, David's roommates. This was my first introduction to the rather awkward European staple, the double kiss (actually this site is a bit incorrect, as in Spain it is strictly left cheek first). Eventually I came to understand that ladies kiss everyone when they meet and usually when they say good-bye, and that even if I felt awkward, no one else did and I should get the hell over myself. After I realized that I just went around kissing everyone. It was awesome and I think we should do it here. There is seriously no better ice-breaker. I mean, when you shake hands, you are still keeping distance between you and your new acquaintence. When you kiss, you are basically saying, "Okay we've broken down the walls. I've been in your space, you've been in mine. Let's cut to the chase and get to know one another." I love it.

The next day found Michael and David and I shopping for Thanksgiving dinner. Chicken, macaroni and cheese, broccoli, salad, bread. Michael and I ended up cooking for everyone since people in Spain work until 9:30 at night. Everything came out roses, except for the broccoli which I managed to screw up. But people were nice enough to eat it anyway. We all said what we were thankful for (me supplying the Irish girl Gracie with "Puppies!") and dug in. Before dinner, Michael and I wandered around the touristy area of Madrid, which emanates from the area of Sol. We saw such important (read: beautiful but kind of boring) things as the Banco de Espana, the cool place with the murals, and the neat shopping district around Sol.

On Friday, David took us to see the Palacio Real Madrid before he went off to teach the King's English to the Spaniards. It was a beautiful building, the viewing of which was followed by beautiful falafel wraps. Anna then led Michael and I to the Prado where we saw Titians, Goyas, El Grecos, Brueghels, Rembrandts, Velazquezes, and others. I was blown away by this museum. I think it's easy to overlook why these people are the masters if you have never seen their work up close. The detail, the mastery of anatomy, the capacity for mimicry...it's amazing. Titian's depiction of Sisyphus is one of the most stirring things I've ever seen. Ditto for the Five Senses (and now I can't remember who painted them, but I know it was a pairing of two). Rembrandt is revered above all others for a good friggin' reason. I would kill a man to know how to do with my mind what they can manage to do with paint, if that makes any sense to anyone but me. Suffice it to say that the Prado was well worth the six euro admission.

After the Prado it was painting the town red with David. We hung in Malasana, specifically at the Tupper Ware bar. I felt un-trendy, but I did know the words to all the American oldies that were being played at the bar. The youth of Spain are a very good-looking lot, let it be said. Boys, girls, what have you. They dress well, they take pride in their appearance (even if that appearance includes rattails and mullets), and they work a cigarette like no one I've seen. The title for this here post came from our evening out in Malasana, by the way. A person of about 20, blind drunk, was being aided down the street by his friends. The catch is that he was on crutches---the kind that you get when you've got legs that chronically don't work so good. This boy on crutches looked up at our little party passing him by and said, "Que Friends!" And I thought to myself that truer words have not been spoken.

On Saturday was our daytrip to Toledo where we enjoyed fine mazapan, viewed some medieval architecture, and froze our tookuses off. It was a beautiful city. Unfortunately we only got a quick glimpse of the cathedral before we were told that unless we were worshipping, we had to go. I had spent the full minute and half that we were inside with my nose in a side chapel since I thought I would be able to tour at my leisure. Ah, well. The side chapel was lovely. My best memory from Toledo will be sitting the in the main square with Michael and David, talking about body hair over paella and too much cafe con leche.

Saturday night we went over to Anna's apartment for a little party thingie. It was the first time we had met Spanish people who were not intimate associates of David. It was awkward and smokey and I proceeded to get quite ill. I was so overheated that I turned the color of a really ripe mango. But David sat with me in the lobby for a bit and I felt better. The main attraction for the evening was the viewing of one of the roommate's friend's short film series. I couldn't understand most of it, but it appeared to center around torture by apple. I was glad to get home, where we found Nacho on the couch watching a little t.v. David took this opportunity to show us free Spanish porn. Does this make for an enlightened culture?

Sunday was spent at the aforementioned la Latina market. I got too drunk on mochitos but I did manage to acquire a little green cell phone cozy with an asian girl on it simply by telling Nacho's friend Elsa that I liked it. She promptly offered it to me and I finally accepted it after much chastisement from Nacho ("If a person offers you something, you just take it!). Michael and I killed the time before bed watching Ghost Ship and Encino Man dubbed in Spanish. It's way more entertaining than it sounds.

Monday was the sad last day. David took us to Parque Retiro, which was simply gorgeous. The light was beautifu, the weather was cooperative, and the park itself is just lovely. It's large with winding footpaths, and a central area with a large pond and this monument with columns and a huge statute of a man on a horse (as all self-respecting monuments have). After David went off to work, Michael and I hit the Reina Sofia so that I could see Picasso's "Guernica." Picasso, for some strange reason, is my favorite artist. It doesn't make any sense considering that my general affinity is for the more classical/Renaissance type artists. But, seeing as how I'm a sucker for all things Picasso, I've been waiting over ten years to see this particular work. I had a conversation recently which touched on the topic of disappointment at the hands of so-called "world treasures." The argument was basically that you get your expectations up too high you are bound to be disppaointed. The conversation meandered a bit and culminated in a discussion of beauty. We talked about that feeling you get when you are looking at a piece of art or a devestating sunset or the face of your beloved or your pet. The feeling where you are partially afraid to look away lest the beauty disappear and partially afraid to continue looking lest the beauty of the thing swallow you whole. I thought of this conversation while I was staring at "Guernica" so long my feet hurt and my eyes watered. I thought of how un-disappointing this painting is and how the terrible beauty of the thing made me want to take an x-acto knife to it. Odd, the effect. And the Dali works in the next room paled in comparison to me.

After the visit to the museum, Michael and I went home and had a melancholy packing session and waited for David's arrival home from work. We discussed the various available methods of getting to the aeropuerto at the unGodly hour of 4:00 in the morning. The Metro unfortunately stopped working at 1:30 am and cabs were like 20 euros. This was not resolved when David arrived home after having a Monday at work. Anna and her roomies were cooking us a dinner as an affectionate send-off. We were supposed to be there at 10:00 and ended up not getting there until 11:30 and then not eating until 12:15. Strange Spaniards and their strange hours. On the menu was this tomato garlic salsa soupy thingie that was awesome and for the recipe I would sacrifice my firstborn, pollo con queso roquefort, bread with this really really good Spanish ham, eggplant souffle of some sort with eggs on top, and lots and lots of Spanish wine. It felt so good to sit around a table with new friends in a foreign country. I knew then that I would never regret the trip, no matter how poorly it caused me to perform on my schoolwork. Anna and Company were so friendly, and it was so awesome to see David again. I was tired, cranky, and couldn't think straight during my exam, but so it goes. Viva Espana. Que Friends.